


Hungry like the wolf

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bottom Vilkas, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Masturbation, Power Dynamics, Step on Me Dovahkiin, The Companions - Freeform, Werewolves, Wolf-Related Innuendo, ass eating, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24067867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: Vilkas has, in all of his short relationships, been the dominant one. It makes sense, then, that the one that will last is the one where he lets someone else take the lead.Or, it’s dog eat dog out there, and Vilkas is hoping he gets eaten.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Hungry like the wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I’m fully aware that the theory of the alpha wolf has been revoked by the man who came up with the idea in the first place. I know that. But the wolf theme got away from me and I am all for men getting all the pleasure they can stand. 
> 
> Also, I am not much of a smut writer, this is way more than I'm used to writing, so please be kind with me.

Vilkas has, in all of the short relationships he has had, been the dominant one. 

Not that any of his past lovers have complained – he’s a big man and it is expected of him to press people against walls and beds, to growl and bite, to move with both force and care, and he knows how to do it all  _ well.  _ He rather likes it too - it’s part of the wolf in him. Even if he chooses not to shift any more, the instincts still creep out. Getting to drag his nose along someone’s neck, to dig his teeth in and claim and possess and make someone his…it feels good. More than good, honestly. It appeases the animal in him that lurks under his skin, that paces in the back of his mind, howling to be let out.

He’s had people try and dominate him in return, but it never feels right. They always slip, always let nervousness overtake their confidence, and make the whole thing so uncomfortable that Vilkas has to hold their hand through it all and that just ruins it. People also don't look at him and think 'Ah, the big strong Companion, I bet he likes to be held down in bed'. Not to mention that he's picky about who gets to do that. People usually look at him and think ‘yes, you, I want you to make me feel small and cared for and loved’, not the other way around. After several false starts, he gave up on the idea. 

But  _ her… _

Even without the wolf in her blood, Anakin gro-Sorn is a beast of a woman. Her biceps are as big as his, if bigger, strong from holding up a monstrous-looking mace that makes his skin crawl just looking at it. In fact, her entire body is a muscle, dense and strong, with broad shoulders and thick legs. She’s tall too, her silver eyes level with his, and she carries herself with such confidence and power that the initial fight to assess her feels like a formality.

She swaps to a steel war axe instead of the mace – it's the Axe of Whiterun, Divines above, they’re adding a  _ Thane _ to their ranks – and the force with which she slams it into his shield is staggering. He doesn’t need to fight her properly. She’s in with one hit.

“I would be honoured to join the Companions,” she tells them, her voice a low rumble, and Vilkas feels, for a split second, a need to fall to his knees before her. The wolf in him, as much as he hates it, sings in his blood.  _ Alpha, alpha, alpha.  _

He stamps it down hard, swallows to hide the dryness in his mouth, and decides to send her out with Farkas. He can’t stay near her longer. He just can’t. She turns her head to look for his brother, the tendons in her neck straining, and he feels the urge to run his nose along them. He can smell her from here – dirt, sweat, the faintest whiff of baked bread, a faint crackle of magic. When she steps inside to talk to the other Companions, he steps around the corner, facing the Skyforge, and leans against the wall. He covers his mouth with a hand to hide his sharp exhale, even as it turns into a whimper on the way out. His blood is boiling. The wolf howls in his bones.

He wants, he wants, he  _ wants.  _

_... _

She eats with them before she heads out with his brother. Vilkas keeps an eye on her despite himself, watching her joke with the other Companions. She talks to Aela about practising her archery, Farkas about strengthening her armor, and even Eorlund about smithing. She's smart, ready to learn, and the more that she talks, the more the Companions want her to join. Vilkas least of all. 

Skjor, not impressed with her in the slightest, stomps over and grins, “My Orc friend, I have a challenge for you.”

Her eyes turn steadily up to him. “Go ahead.”

“I hear that Orcs have a better metabolism than most of us when it comes to alcohol.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

“You. Me.” He holds up a tankard. “Last one standing wins.”

Everyone’s eyes are on them as Anakin considers the tankard and nods. Vilkas thinks he sees her smirk for a moment before it shifts back to solemnity. “Alright. You’re on.”

A spot in the centre of the table is cleared for them with extra space for tankards. Aela walks over with her arms full of mead bottles and sets them down. “Ready?”

Skjor pours his with expert care, not wanting to make too much foam, and Anakin does the same. He taps their tankards together. “You can always back out now,” Skjor taunts.

All Anakin does is arch one bushy eyebrow, her mouth quirking in a tusked grin, and she raises the tankard to her mouth, downing the whole thing in a steady swallow. Vilkas is transfixed by the bobbing of her throat and, when she puts the tankard down, the swipe of her tongue across her lip. She immediately goes to pour a new tankard and Skjor does the same.

It repeats, one tankard after another as they approach what the rest of the Companions know Skjor’s limit. Even so, Anakin barely shows any sign of drunkenness. At the limit, they can tell Skjor is swaying a bit in his seat. Anakin hasn’t spoken much, but there is more of a smile on her face.

She wins, of course. Aela and Farkas work together to get Skjor down to his quarters, and Vilkas has to help pour Anakin into bed as it all settles in. She's dense, but for all of her strength, she’s fairly compliant. 

“Touch me anywhere inappropriate and I will Shout you into Sovngarde,” she slurs softly as they step into the recruits' rooms.

He raises an eyebrow and lowers her onto the cot. “Sure, Dragonborn,” he teases. “Now get some sleep.”

He quietly tells Kodlak about it all after, when no one else is around, and Kodlak gives him a small smile. “She is a powerful woman with a good heart. She commands the room. Perhaps she will be Harbinger, when I am gone.” 

Vilkas can picture that, even though he can’t quite fathom Kodlak not being there to lead them.

“As for your reaction, Vilkas…” Kodlak smiles, “the wolf in us recognizes strength and courage, command and power. Those are sometimes characteristics of an ideal mate.”

“But we have no idea who she is,” Vilkas protests, “or if she is worthy of the Companions.”

There is something knowing in Kodlak’s eyes when he says it. Vilkas isn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or not. “Then we shall wait and see if your wolf is right.”

Vilkas starts to rise and pauses. “She said that she would Shout me to Sovngarde.”

Kodlak’s eyebrows rise. “The Greybeards did call for the Dragonborn not long ago.”

Vilkas remembers that. The power of the Thu’um from High Hrothgar set his teeth on edge and made his bones rattle. “Could she be Dragonborn?” He asks.

“Perhaps. Again, we shall wait and see.”

* * *

Anakin passes her trial, of course, and sees Farkas change during it. She doesn't say a word to the other Companions, however, which says something about her character. Farkas draws Vilkas aside to talk to him about it. They sit near the Skyforge, the heat warming the stone they lean against as they sip ale.

"I didn't come back immediately, you know," Farkas says quietly.

Vilkas frowns. "No?"

"No. The wolf didn't want to be caged back up again. It - I - wanted to run. To feed, to tear through flesh and bone and feast and grow stronger," Farkas's voice deepens, a growl at the edge of his voice, and Vilkas pinches his arm to drag him back to reality.

"So you lingered?"

Farkas shakes his head to clear his thoughts and nods. "Yes. For all Anakin knew, I'd just shifted, tore apart a bunch of werewolf hunters, and was standing on the other side of a barred door."

"So what happened?"

"I opened it and started trying to push through to the next room. Anakin...she's amazing, Vilkas. She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, snarled at me to stand down and _I heard her through the wolf._ ” Farkas’s eyes are a little wide.

Vilkas has to set down his tankard at that so he won't drop it. "A snarl?"

"Yeah," Farkas nods. "I thought it had come from me, but I heard her and changed back. It was like a command."

Imagination running away with him, Vilkas thinks of her commanding him and swallows. The ale comes back up to wet his dry mouth, and Farkas raises a knowing eyebrow at him, saying nothing of it.

“Aela wants to ask her to be part of the Circle,” Farkas adds after a moment. "Anakin said she'd think on it, that's there a lot going on with her already and she didn't want to get it all mixed up."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is, Aela says she’s wolf without the blood. Or something else entirely, something fierce. I'd hate to be on the wrong end of her mace."

...

Vilkas figures out what the something else is when a routine contract in Hjaalmarch is disrupted by a roar. He's heard the roars before, faint in the distance, but this one is far too close. It makes his hackles stand up on end, and a growl bubbles in his throat. 

Flame shoots overhead and the guards unnecessarily announce, “DRAGON!”

Cool as can be, Anakin slides her mace into its scabbard on her belt and reaches for her bow. She slides an arrow to it, takes aim through the flames, and lets off a shot right into the dragon's open mouth. Vilkas’s eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”

She doesn't take her eyes off of the beast, silver sparkling in the firelight, but he can see the grin across her face. She rumbles, voice as dangerous as her bow, “Killing a dragon."

The fight is rough and Vilkas tries to land as many blows as he can when the dragon lands. There are arrows in every break between the scales, blood dripping onto the soil, but the dragon refuses to die. If anything, it gets more ferocious, snapping at anything within reach. More than a few guards lie dead in the soil around them, victims of those sharp teeth.

It’s when it's about to bite him that he hears it. It’s a voice, louder than anything he’s ever heard, almost enough to split his eardrums. 

**“FUS RO DAH!”**

The dragon buckles under the force of the voice, its neck twisting, and it turns to stare at the source, which, to Vilkas's surprise, was Anakin. A voice snarls out of its mouth as it spits, **“Dovahkiin…”**

An arrow lodges directly in its eye and she bares her teeth at it. Vilkas stabs at it with his sword, going for the eyes, and another arrow to the throat does the trick. With one last cry of pain, it falls to the ground, head thunking into the dirt. Vilkas doesn't fall to his knees - he's stronger than that, but he definitely leans on them, staring at their prize.

_They just killed a dragon._

Then the dragon begins to catch fire. No, not quite fire, something else that burns the scales, skin, and meat off the bones. It glows orange, and with a gust of wind, energy slides off of it into Anakin. She closes her eyes, inhaling as it flows over her skin, and when she opens her eyes, they flash with that fiery light. As it finally fades, Anakin steps back, wiping the blood off her armor.

No, not just Anakin. She’s the  _ Dragonborn. _

They loot the body for bones and scales, hauling them back to Whiterun. Apparently, she has a plan for them, something about making gauntlets, if she can work out how. It's oddly fitting, now that he thinks about it: the dragonborn wearing the bones of those she has killed. If people couldn't work out who she was beforehand, they definitely would now.

He doesn’t bring it up until later, sharing a room at the Moorside Inn in Morthal. “When you were drunk, you said you’d shout me to Sovngarde.” He tries to say it offhandedly, sharpening his sword, but his eyes are fixed on her.

Her cheeks go a bit flushed under the dirt and warpaint. “I…may have been exaggerating," she mutters. She drapes one of the blankets over the mace, hiding its sickly green glow, and she lays back on the bed. She crosses her legs, resting her calf on one knee, and adds, "I'm not even sure if I _believe_ in Sovngarde."

That's a whole other conversation for another time. “Could you have done it? Shouted me to death?”

“I think so? I'm still learning the Shouts, but I don't know if there's one that's a direct line to Sovngarde,” she shrugs, “but I wouldn’t have done it. I try not to do it in towns. Scares people.”

There’s nothing about her that says plainly ‘I am the Dragonborn, the savior of the world, the slayer of dragons, the promised one to kill Alduin the World Eater’, but now that he knows, the strength in her looks different. For all that she is, it reminds him that she’s holding back. All the time.

_ That is one of the hottest things I have ever seen. _

He focuses on sharpening his sword, but he can't help running his eyes over her arms. When he focuses back on her, she's watching him. "Is it a problem, Vilkas?"

"No, no, not at all. If anything, it's comforting to know that we have the Dragonborn among our ranks."

She chuckles. "Don't tell anyone. I like the surprise on people's faces when they figure it out." Her eyes sparkle in the candlelight, the barest hint of what it looked like when she was flooded with the _soul of a dragon,_ and Vilkas _can't think about that, not with her right there_. 

"I think I understand what you meant when you told Aela you had a lot going on."

"That, and I joined the College of Winterhold. And I think I may have been forcibly recruited into the Dark Brotherhood?"

Vilkas gives up on sharpening his sword to stare at her. She turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"You don't believe me?"

"If I did believe you, I'd question why you were telling me."

"Maybe because you won't." She grins at him a little more, and Vilkas's stomach swoops. There's a heart and spark behind all that power. 

_ MATE, _ the wolf howls. 

He desperately tamps it down.

* * *

It's hard not to think of her. The more contracts she does for the Companions, the more time she spends with them, the more she fills his mind. He learns soon after Aela initiated Anakin into the Circle and that it was on her first run out that they found the Silver Hand. And lost Skjor in the process. It’s all in her eyes, not her words, but Vilkas can tell that Anakin isn’t happy. She takes to the beast blood well, yes, but losing pack always hurts. She buries herself in contracts and spends a lot of time talking to him. They travel all over Skyrim together, and he's seen her in almost every state he can think of. As Dragonborn, as mage, as Companion, as a friend, and as Anakin. He likes that last one best - stolen moments when she's braiding her hair into its topknot, the warpaint not on her face, cracking jokes and looking at him with warmth and affection.

It's no longer just simple attraction now, no longer him looking at her and recognizing her as something that he would let press him into a bed. No. Now, it's real. It's looking at her and thinking that he could spend the rest of his days fighting by her side, or talking to her and trying to find the jokes that make her laugh, or just lying beside her with the firelight their only blanket. 

When she sets off on a task for her College, something about ruins and a giant orb and the Thalmor being idiots, he thinks about her. He'd told Anakin to be safe, she'd said that ruined all the fun but that she'd try. H e’d started to leave, turning back into Jorrvaskr, and she’d cupped his cheek, tapped her thumb on his cheekbone, and patted his shoulder in farewell. He’d taken his armour off, back sweaty and dirty, and he could feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt. Even now, hours after it happened, lying in his small bed at night, he can feel that warmth on his skin.

The wolf in his veins howls with want, singing with the faint memory of her touch, and his mind goes wild with the thought of what those hands can do.

He listens closely, freezing in place. Farkas is out on a contract, no one else with heightened senses is nearby…he can take this moment. Vilkas shifts his sleep trousers down and takes himself in hand, stroking slowly.  At first, his mind goes the traditional route of fantasies: kissing her, tongue sliding between her tusks as he presses her against the wall, her grunting and groaning as she does in combat, her hands curled in his hair. It gets him started, his hand following its usual motions. His thumb brushes over the head, calluses sending sparks of sensation across his skin, and he sighs.  He tries to picture lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his hips, and pressing her against the wall to fuck her that way. 

His grip tightens and he sighs again. It’s an incredible image. He can hear her moan, feel her hands grip into his shirt and hair as his hips drive into her. She'd grip him like a vice, all of her muscles at once, and when she growls his name, he'd hear wolf and dragon in concert on her tongue.

It's a fantastic image. But it isn’t quite right. 

_ Alpha, _ his instincts sing.

Then it takes a turn. In his mental fantasy, she drops her legs and spins them around, pressing him to the wall. Her hand slides between them to cup his cock, squeezing it, and her weight holds him in place as she grins against his mouth.  _ I’m sorry, did you think you were in control? _ She growls, amusement and desire in her voice.

A moan escapes him, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. 

Fuck, when was the last time a fantasy made him moan? He had gotten good at hiding the sounds of any nightly rituals – you had to when you lived in close quarters with people with good ears – but this image is so good that he can’t think about anything else. He grabs his pillow and presses it over his mouth to muffle himself.

In the fantasy, she presses him down slowly to his knees, caged between her and the wall, and she tells him, voice commanding and promising,  _ If you behave and treat me well, I’ll let you come. _ And when he pauses, she snarls at him to  _ Get on it! _

He muffles another moan into his pillow, jerking himself faster. He has always loved the scent and taste of a woman, and eating someone out feeds the wolf in him. The taste, the smell, the feeling of someone quivering under his tongue, the desperate noises that rise above, the fingers in his hair…it feeds every sense and he loves it all. It makes him feel powerful to give such a gift. He imagines it all gladly.

_ Good boy, _ she tells him as she pulls him up. She sits on a table, spreads her legs, and she is still in power.  _ Now, you get your reward. _

He comes with a sob of her name, spilling harder than he has since he was a teenager. He lies panting on the sheets, spend all over his hands, and the realization slowly dawns on him. It's not simple attraction anymore. It's not lust. It's not friendship. It's all of the above, wrapped into a neat four letter word.

**_Oh no._ **

* * *

Of course, it all comes to a head when everything starts to go wrong.

_ "Where were you?”  _

Vilkas can’t help the venom he spits at her when she returns to Jorrvaskr. There's a sack hanging over her shoulder, blood dripping out of the bottom of it, and her eyes are wide at the scene.

“I was doing Kodlak's bidding,” she returns, voice firm and steady as always, although her eyes take in the bodies around them. 

"I hope it was important, because it means you weren't here to defend him!" 

Anakin doesn't flinch. Not in the slightest. She takes the vitriol with ease and sets down the sack. "What happened?"

"The Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We fought them off, but..." 

He can't bring himself to finish the sentence. He doesn't need to. Kodlak's body, laid out behind them, is more than enough to explain it. Anakin's eyes soften, looking at him. She doesn't give condolences, not out loud, but her expression says it. "Was anyone else hurt, Vilkas?"

For once, he's grateful that the wolf in his bones sees her as alpha. There is enough authority in her gentle, firm voice to ground him. "No, but they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad. But we're going to reclaim them." 

It has to be her. Never mind the anger he feels that she wasn't there - if Anakin isn't there to help temper him, he might lose himself to the wolf. Her eyes fix on him, sharp as ever, and she nods, setting down the sack with a thump. He can't tell what's in there, only that there are several objects that roll around. She looks at Farkas and says firmly, "Keep that safe."

"We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none living to tell their stories," he snarls, "only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak, and they will know _terror_ before the end."

Back turned and on his way out, he doesn't catch the look that Farkas sends Anakin, a look of concern and horror, or the look of reassurance that she gives Farkas in return.

They carve a bloody swath through the Silver Hand, every slit throat another point of vengeance for Kodlak's death, but Anakin stops him at the end.

“Stand down, Vilkas.”

“You can’t seriously-“

“I  **said** .  **Stand. Down.”** Anakin growls the word, grabbing him by the hair and hauling him back from the Silver Hand’s leader. The man is whimpering in pain and fear, and Vilkas strains against her grip.

“He killed-"

“I know,” Anakin’s voice is gentle, even as it commands him to stop. “But killing him won’t bring Kodlak back. Besides, we have a job to do for him. The job he gave me, and we will see it through.”

Vilkas strains one more time, his teeth bared in a snarl at the man, and Anakin grabs onto him tighter. She lifts him off the ground, turns him, and shoves him toward the door.  **“Out, Vilkas.”**

He turns back to see her saying something to the Silver Hand leader, something that makes the man shiver in terror, and then follows him out. There is nothing to negotiate in her eyes, even as he looks back at her in a hope to change her mind. She just marches him back to Whiterun, a hand firm on his shoulder, and the wolf heels at her direction. 

_ Alpha.  _

_... _

The bag of witches’ heads is rather ominous, the blood dripping out of the sack. Farkas’s eyes are wide. “Are those-“

“The Glenmoril Witches,” Anakin replies firmly. “Kodlak sent me out for them before he died. So he and anyone who wished to renounce the beast blood could go to Sovngarde.”

Vilkas can see it – Anakin crawling through the caverns, bow at the ready, taking down each witch with a shot and running up with a mace for a final blow. His wolf paces inside of him, demanding that he throw himself at her right now. His dick very much agrees. His rational thoughts beat it down, focusing on the job at hand.

“Then we go to Ysgramor’s tomb,” the conversation has carried on without him. “Set off as soon as we can. Maybe we can get Kodlak the peace he yearned for.”

Vilkas nods. “Agreed. You coming with us?”

Anakin slings the bag of heads over her shoulder and nods. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They barely speak on the way there, too focused on their duty. On the way back, perhaps they will tell stories of Kodlak Whitemane and all of his achievements. But for now, they march through the snow to Ysgramor's tomb, place Wuuthrad in its hold, and fight through the spiders and spirits that have infested its hallways.

There are enough heads that Vilkas and Farkas could, in their own time, lose their wolves. They decide not to for now, to see how it sits in their hearts, and Aela clings firmly to her own. Anakin does the same. All the same, they kill Kodlak's wolf spirit and set their old Harbinger on his way to Sovngarde.

They announce Anakin as Kodlak's successor, the new Harbinger, and Vilkas realizes that it feels right.  _ Alpha. In command. As it should be. _

Once they get back to Jorrvaskr and share the news, they celebrate loudly. The mead flows like rainwater, telling jokes and stories to lighten the darkened mood, and everyone wants to have a word with their new Harbinger. She celebrates as much as the rest of them, but she doesn't drink and after a few hours, Vilkas notices Anakin slip out the back door. 

He follows after a while.

Anakin sits on the railing, feet up on a table, looking out over the training yard and the night sky. He finds a spot near her, taking a moment to get his balance. This graceful stuff isn't exactly his thing, and he sees Anakin's lip twitch with a smile as he finally gets a hold of himself.

“What do you think it’s like?” She asks softly. “Sovngarde.”

Vilkas thinks about that. "We grew up on stories of it. A feast hall to end all feast halls. Not the parties like we have here, but a recognition of every fight that we have been through - whether that is battle or any kind of fight for our lives. I think it's something like that."

She hums softly, looking up at the sky. 

"I remember you saying that you aren't sure if you believe in it."

"You remembered?"

Vilkas flushes. "Of course I do," _I remember everything you tell me._

Anakin's smile is soft, and Vilkas has to look away to save himself from it. "No, I'm not sure if I believe in Sovngarde,” she shrugs. “My mother always told me that when our people die, we go to Malacath’s realm, the Ashen Forge, where every Orc is a chief, every chief has a thousand wives, and every wife has a thousand slaves to cater to their every need.”

Vilkas’s eyebrows raise at that. “Sounds like quite the afterlife.”

She chuckles. “It is. But…I don’t know if that is what I believe. I appreciate all that Malacath has done for us, but I think I’ve talked to enough Daedric Princes that I might just end up in the Dreamsleeve.”

“I am not sure if I am pleased or sad that I don’t go on more of your trips to meet these Daedric princes.” Vilkas chuckles.

Anakin’s eyes are warm as they settle on him. “I  _ have  _ been asked to meet with Namira…”

Vilkas can’t help the snarl. “No. A thousand times no.” 

She barks out a laugh, wrinkling her nose. “You and I both, brother.”  They fall silent, watching the stars in peace together. Vilkas thinks he feels her fingers rest on his, on top of the railing. 

Finally, she breaks the silence. "My children are staying with the Valentinos tonight. A sleepover."

Blaise and Sofie. Vilkas has met them once or twice. Anakin rescued Blaise from a farm in Markarth where they worked him like a dog, and gave Sofie a warm home instead of the cold streets of Windhelm. He’s glad the two of them are happy and spending time with friends, but he doesn’t understand where Anakin is going with this. He looks at her curiously, raising an eyebrow.

She looks at him intently, spreading her hand to cover his firmly. “It means my home is empty, Vilkas. And I have seen how you look at me.”

_ Oh. _

Every instinct in him screams ‘yes, I want, have me, I’m yours’ and his lips part with an exhale of relief. He nods, not able to come up with any other words than “Yes.”

It is an unfamiliar feeling to be wordless.

She hops off the railing, boots landing in the grass with a soft thud, offers him her hand. He takes it, feeling the calluses on her palm and the strength in her as they walk to her small house near the blacksmith. Vilkas wonders if she can feel his heart pounding through the skin, or maybe even hear it in his veins. If she does, she doesn't say anything. Instead, she just holds him tight and walks with purpose. 

He isn't the only one who has wanted this.

Lydia very smartly is on the way out of the house, walking straight up to the Bannered Mare where she will presumably not say a word about a Thane taking a Companion to bed but will smile at herself regardless. Anakin tosses Lydia some coin for the meal and pushes the door open.

**Into the wolf’s den he goes.**

* * *

Vilkas has established a few things over the course of his sexual years. In particular, he does not beg. He is a Companion, a man of pride, and begging is not part of his repertoire. He may make noise, growl, or moan, but he does not call out to the Divines and he certainly does not beg.

Granted, he hadn’t had the Dragonborn’s face between his thighs eating his ass like Alduin will sweep down on them at any moment when he made those rules, so perhaps he could have some leniency.

“Dibella,  _ yes, please!”  _

His fingers knot in the furs on her bed, his back arching despite her firm grip on his hips, his voice rising going up an octave as the pleasure rocks through him. His sounds shift between moans and desperate pleas, only met by a soft growl against the wet skin and the nip of teeth against his thigh. The edge of Anakin’s tusks drag along the soft skin as she sucks and licks, drawing alphabets with her tongue against the sensitive skin. He doesn’t know what language the letters are in, if she's even spelling anything, or if there's even any order to it. He can’t think enough to tell. 

It feels so _good._

He loses track of what he is saying. The words all get jumbled in his head somewhere around begging Anakin to never stop because she looks up at him, pupils so wide that he can't see silver, and she wraps an oiled hand around his cock, stroking him in time with the licks. Her hands feel amazing, the right edge of rough and tight, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head. He's seeing stars.

_I have **not** been taking the right people to bed. _

As the pleasure builds and builds, he lets go of the furs to grab her shoulder, almost frantic. “Please- I- let me-"

_ Let me fuck you, please, please, let me fuck you, I don't want to come yet... _

Vilkas is fairly certain that Anakin can't read minds, but she seems to hear him regardless. She leans up, her eyes sparkling even as he whines. She presses kisses to his thighs, his hip, and his stomach, working her way back up him. He almost cries from the loss of her mouth, even though he knows what he is waiting for.

“Anakin,  _ please, _ ” he sobs at her.

“Patience, Vilkas,” she smiles at him, pressing a kiss to his throat, her tusks dragging along the skin. His legs slowly move down to rest above her hips, almost trembling. Another kiss, soft and sweet, as she murmurs, “You've been so good for me, but we’re not done yet. Not by far.”

She leans over beside them, finding a bottle of wine, and swishes out her mouth quickly. With a few touches, they shift position. It's a little awkward, and he nearly knees her in the tits, but they get where they want to be, with Vilkas still lying down and Anakin straddling him. Spitting the wine out, she leans in for a kiss, and oh does he reach up for that. She tastes like wine and fire and maybe a bit like ass, but it is so good. It's a taste he's not sure he will get enough of. Her fingers slide into his hair, cupping the back of his head, and her other hand reaches between them to stroke herself. Her abs are tight with the effort holding herself in place and, oh  _ Dibella  _ that’s hot. 

He chases her lips as she pulls away, making a little noise, and her eyebrows arch. “You going to behave?” She growls, her eyes warm as she taps his nose with her finger.

She’d asked him that when they got into her bedroom, and he’d asked what his reward was for behaving. She’d very promptly picked him up, pressed him to the wall, and kissed him with a dragon’s hunger. Then she’d leaned back, given him a wolf’s smile, and offered more where that came from. And how could he, with a functioning brain and cock, refuse that offer?

Now, all he can do is nod and beg, voice dry, “Please.”

The wolf submits gladly.

She rewards him with a softer kiss, gentleness easing her gruff voice and firm hands, and she shifts her hips back. His cock rests against her ass and he chokes with the burst of sensation. His hands rest on her hips, sliding up and down her sides in a fervent need to touch, and they tighten when she touches him, beginning to guide him into her.

“Patience,” she says softly, although it sounds more like she is telling herself than him. 

And then she slowly sinks down and he grits his teeth to mask the shout that wants to come out. There are still people outside, after all. When she’s seated, she leans back and sighs with pleasure. She is a dark green line of muscle, her breasts a little darkened with marks of his mouth, and she looks so pleased with him. It warms his heart to get his alpha’s approval.

The wolf paces with need under his skin. _**More.**_ His fingers tighten, not able to get out the words, and gently rocks his hips up, the slightest hint of movement. She gets the message and her hips begin to rock. At first, she is careful, making sure she gets the angle right so as not to hurt him. Then he tests his boundaries, thrusting up just a little harder, and she lets out a desperate moan and there is no stopping her. When he rocks up into her, she rides him intently, her hips and legs a pumping machine, and he thrusts up into her as much as he can. It’s so  _ good,  _ it’s warm and tight and she sets the pace at just the edge of too much. It's everything he had dreamt of and more. Every fantasy from his little bed in Jorrvaskr has come to life and it's better than he could have hoped for.

All the while, one hand works between them, stroking herself with rough fingers, and he suddenly aches to know what she tastes like. 

He takes her hand and guides it to his mouth. He takes in her first two fingers, the same fingers she uses to draw her bowstring, and he lets out a pleased sound. She's salt and musk, and he's not sure if it tastes better than her wine-soaked kiss. She moans, her hips stuttering as he sucks on her fingers, and he feels absurdly good about it. She withdraws them eventually and presses the wetness to herself, keeping her motions at the same steady pace. 

“You first,” she says with a feral smile, squeezing her inner muscles around him. “I’ll follow.”

No one has  _ ever _ said that to him while he was inside them. He lets out a high-pitched moan as he holds onto her, pulling her down closer to him, burying his face into her shoulder. She rides him furiously, squeezing at the right rhythm, murmuring shaking words of praise into his shoulder and pressing sloppy kisses to his sweat-soaked skin. He comes with a shout into her mouth, and s he follows soon after with a keening growl that sounds a lot like his name.

The wolf settles under his skin, pleased.

...

After they clean up, he curls into her, arms around her waist, head resting above her heart to hear its steady beat. Her fingers brush through his hair, dragging blunt nails along his scalp, and he sighs softly with pleasure. There is no sign that she’s kicking him out to trudge back to Jorrvaskr alone.

The thought suddenly hits him that he doesn’t know if this will happen again, and dread fills his stomach like ice. She never said anything about having him there again or any indication that she felt the same thing that he did. He tenses, breath jolting a little, and Anakin pauses in her ministrations. She gently lifts his chin to meet her eyes and waits for him to speak. "Are you alright?" She asks softly.

“I…” the words don’t want to come now, but he fights for them. “I have not done this before.”

“Which?”

He gestures around them vaguely. “I have slept with women before, but they always liked me in charge and to cuddle them for a little bit before sending me home and never seeing me again. Men too.”

“Is that what you wanted from them?” She asks. He can hear her voice coming from her chest, feel the rumble against his ear, and the comfort of it soothes him. 

“Some of it,” he explains. “Didn’t feel right to…bend to any of them. But the after, the one-time-only…”

There is a hum of understanding. Her fingers smooth the soft skin by his ear, and his breath comes out in a whisper across her skin. Vilkas had never properly felt alone with the Companions, not in the slightest, but watching Farkas make eyes at Ria and Aela circling Skjor…it was a different kind of lonely.

He doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

“You…you are…” there are no words to properly describe what he thinks of Anakin…Dovakiin, Harbinger…

_ Lover? _

“What do you want, Vilkas?” It is not a demand or a whine of confusion. It’s Anakin wanting to know what he wants and trying to respond to it.

He thinks of her warm smile, her supportive hands. He thinks of the Amulet of Mara she set on the table when they undressed.

_ If I don't do this, I'll never forgive myself. _

Here goes. “I want to stay.” It takes a weight off his shoulders to say that. “I don’t want to pretend that this never happened. I want all that you have given me, and perhaps more. And I would offer you the same in return. I'd be glad to stand by your side until the Divines take us, if you'll have me."

She breathes out in a slow hum, tapping her fingers lightly on his skull. He feels himself holding his breath, waiting for her answer. Finally, there is a soft little laugh and she replies, “Then you shall have it. All of it.”

He sits upright, ducking out of her hold so that he can look her in the eye. He has to make sure that she means it. That he's not dreaming. She looks up at him with nothing but warmth and honesty in her face, silver eyes gentle. Her hand comes up, brushing his cheek, and he leans into the touch. He grins with relief and nestles back into her hold, kissing her on the cheek.

He's sure that the other Companions will be nothing but kind and teasing. Farkas, especially. He'll make jokes about having a sister-in-law, and no matter how many times Vilkas will get him in a headlock, Farkas will just keep making them. Fondly, of course, because they want each other to be happy. Torvar might make some bad jokes, and he might even get their relationship dynamic right, but it won't matter. It's theirs, and that's what matters.

“Together then?" She asks, her voice trembling just a little. 

He's sure his own sounds just as surprised, as reverent. "Together."

**Author's Note:**

> The epilogue I'm too lazy to write: Anakin refuses to join the civil war because she hates both sides, Vilkas nearly loses his mind when she actually **goes to Sovngarde and comes back** and when it is time to face Alduin, she kisses Vilkas and tells him that she will see him in Sovngarde if this goes wrong.
> 
> It does not. 
> 
> And they get married and maybe have a baby and they both rid themselves of the wolf because Anakin is quite done with being extraordinary.


End file.
